


Compromising

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Embarrassment, F/M, Masturbation Interruptus, Smut, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 08:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: Sometimes I get requests for plots that seem so out of character, that initially I think "I can't make that work." But, my brain is stubborn, and I like the challenge of trying to make an OOC plotline feel plausible. This was a request for Benson catching Barba, uh, pleasuring himself - and vice-versa, and at first I wasn't sure I could make either version work. This is what I came up with, hopefully it feels true to the characters. These two chapters are not a continuation, but rather alternate versions of the trope.





	1. Chapter 1

Barba walked into the bathroom and pushed the door closed, reaching for his zipper. He caught movement in the mirror and hesitated, looking over his shoulder, his heart momentarily stuttering in his chest. The door was swinging slowly inward, and he could see his hotel room through the opening.

Scowling, he stepped toward the door and pushed it almost all the way closed before releasing it. He watched it slowly begin creeping open, and sighed. No expenses spared by the city of New York on accommodations, apparently. He pushed the door firmly closed until it latched and gave the doorknob an experimental tug. The door stayed shut.

Not that it mattered; there was no one else in his room, anyway.

He turned his back on the door, unfastened his trousers, took himself in his hand, and quickly urinated. While he was peeing, he heard a knock, and he hurried to finish. He zipped himself up and swiftly washed his hands before leaving the bathroom.

He didn’t go to the main door that led to the hallway; he knew that wasn’t where the knock had originated. He went to the door that led into the adjoining room, unlocked it, and swung it open to find Benson standing on the other side.

“Hey, neighbor,” she said with a smile, and he laughed, leaning against the edge of the door.

“How comforting to know I have New York’s finest just a stone’s throw away.”

“Don’t be throwing stones, Counsellor,” she said, unceremoniously walking past him into his room. “Breaking things isn’t in our budget.”

“Neither is a three-star rating, apparently,” he remarked, watching her survey his room. “Well? Is it better or worse than yours?” he asked.

“I’d say, pretty much exactly the same,” she laughed. “Only backwards.”

“Yours is backwards,” he countered, and she laughed again. She seemed to be in high spirits, and he could feel his own irritation sliding away. Her mood was infectious.

After several hours of traveling, it would be nice to settle into their rooms and relax for a while. They had a full day of conferences starting at seven the following morning, but a free night ahead of them.

“We should go out and get some dinner,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Is food all you ever think about?”

“Work, food, sleep, and—” He broke off abruptly, realizing at the last second how inappropriate the comment was. He felt a faint blush creeping up his neck and was glad he had a five o’clock shadow to hide it.

She arched an eyebrow. “In that order?” she asked, knowing exactly what he’d stopped himself from saying.

He cleared his throat. “Sometimes food and work switch places,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you say yes to dinner?”

She smiled and said, “Sure. But not this early. I just want to relax, away from people, for a little while.”

He nodded. “Okay. Why don’t you come get me when you’re ready—”

“Come hang out. We’ll watch TV and veg out.”

He hesitated. “You said—”

“You’re not _people_ , Barba.” She bumped her knuckles against his arm. “I just want to put my feet up for an hour or so, then we’ll go get your food.”

He considered telling her he could go get dinner by himself, but thought better of it. He didn’t want that, and he had a feeling she would see his bluff and call it. “Fine,” he said. “But you’re buying me a steak.”

“Deal,” she agreed, quicker than he’d expected, and he felt a pleasant flutter in his stomach as she hooked her arm through his and led him toward her room.

 

*       *       *

 

Benson looked at Barba, sitting on her bed with his back against the headboard, and tossed him a package of Teddy Grahams. He caught the little bag in one hand and glanced at it before giving her a dirty look. She saw his lips quirk, however, and he almost immediately tore the package open.

She kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge of the bed as he popped a little honey-flavored bear into his mouth. She secretly loved watching him eat, and wished there were some way she could watch him without being obvious— _You mean creepy_ , she thought, almost laughing at herself—about it.

“Don’t spoil your dinner, now,” she said, drawing her legs onto the mattress beside him and rolling onto her stomach with her head toward the foot of the bed. She looked back over her shoulder at him and saw his gaze quickly shift.

“With a handful of miniscule cookies?” he asked, meeting her eyes and pretending that he hadn’t just been caught looking at her ass. She could see the faint hint of color staining his cheeks.

“They’re crackers,” she said.

“In what universe?”

She laughed. “Graham crackers? Teddy Grahams?”

Barba held one up between his thumb and forefinger. “This is a cookie,” he informed her.

She laughed again and shook her head, turning her face toward the television. “Whatever you say, Barba,” she said, picking up the remote. She thought she could feel his gaze traveling up the length of her body, and she felt a warm flush of desire. “What do you want to watch?” she asked, flipping through the channels. She shifted her legs a little.

Barba cleared his throat. “I don’t care,” he said.

Benson smiled to herself. “I know you’re a romantic at heart,” she told him, and she heard his soft snort behind her as she chose a romantic comedy and set the remote on the bed. She crossed her arms under her chin, but she wasn’t comfortable, and she shifted a bit, her leg brushing against Barba’s.

He tossed a pillow past his feet, and it landed beside her head.

“Thanks,” she said, grabbing the pillow and shoving it under her chest, once more crossing her arms beneath her chin. Her leg was pressed against his, now, and she could feel his heat through the fabric of their trousers. His socked feet were near her waist, and part of her wanted to reach back and run a finger up an arch to see how he would react.

She heard the rustle of his Teddy Grahams bag and was pretty sure he’d just remembered he was holding it. The thought made her smile again. She was tired and sore from traveling, but she was in a good mood. While she’d rather stay in her room, relaxing, than sit in a crowded restaurant, she was looking forward to dinner with Barba. They rarely had time for more than a drink or quick lunch together, and sitting across a table from him would be a good opportunity to surreptitiously watch him eating.

She tried to focus on the movie, but all she could think about was the warmth of his leg, and how she could feel his foot brush against her hip when he shifted. She knew he wasn’t watching the movie, that he couldn’t keep his eyes on the screen in spite of his best intentions.

She moved her foot, tipping her heel against his thigh. She heard him set his empty wrapper on the bedside table and then, a moment later, she felt his fingers brush the arch of her foot, startling her. She bent her knee, drawing her foot up instinctively, and looked over her shoulder to find him smirking at her.

“Ticklish?” he asked, a little too innocently.

With a small laugh, she dropped her foot back to the bed beside him. “Not really,” she said.

“Liar.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’d never lie to you, Barba,” she said, suppressing a shiver of desire as he ran a finger lightly over her toes.

“I know,” he answered softly, meeting her eyes, and she felt her lower belly tighten.

She shifted a bit, reaching a hand back to brush her fingertips against the sole of his nearest foot. She felt him tense, saw his toes curl a little, but he didn’t pull away. “What about you?” she asked.

“Admit weakness?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Never.”

She ran a finger up the arch of his foot and was impressed by his self-control. “Hmm,” she said. She moved, bending her waist so she could reach further back, and slid a hand beneath his leg, tickling the back of his knee. “What about here?” she asked, relishing the way his breath caught in his throat. He started to bend his knee and stopped himself, tightening his muscles instead. “No, huh?” she asked, suddenly grinning.

He drew a finger along the inside curve of her foot, and she gasped, her leg twitching involuntarily.

Then, before she could retaliate, she felt the muscles in her foot beginning to tighten, and she winced, rolling a bit further onto her side. “Ow,” she said, and he drew his hand away, looking at her face. “Ah,” she said, as the muscle cramp curled her toes inward, and she levered herself part way up, trying to straighten her foot. “Charley horse,” she muttered, grimacing at the pain in her foot.

He took hold of her ankle and pulled her foot onto his thigh. He pressed his palm against her toes, applying gentle pressure, using the thumb of his other hand to massage circles into her spasming muscle, and she stared at him, unable to breathe. She could feel her foot relaxing into his hands as he effortlessly and confidently eased her pain.

But that wasn’t all his hands were doing. She could feel the ghost of his fingers all the way up her leg.

He put his palm under her heel and slid his other hand to her lower calf, his fingertips gently kneading the muscle there. He released her foot, and her heel slid down his inner thigh as he used both hands to massage her calf.

His eyes traced the length of her body until their gazes met. “Better?” he asked in a low voice.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

He let go of her leg—reluctantly, she thought—and offered her a small smile. “Least I could do,” he said. He tipped his head and pointed a finger toward the bedside table. “For the cookies,” he added, and she laughed. She pulled her leg from his lap and rolled over onto her stomach again.

She lowered her foot onto his thigh and hesitated without looking back at him, waiting to see how he would react. After a few moments, his hand settled onto her lower calf, and she smiled at the television as she let her body relax into the bed.

She watched the movie—or, at least, she tried—while the pad of his thumb lightly stroked her calf just above her Achilles tendon. The arch of her foot was curved over his leg, and she curled her toes against his inner thigh. She heard his quick intake of breath as she inadvertently brushed against his crotch.

She was both surprised and pleased to feel his noticeable arousal—but she also felt a surge of guilt for tormenting him.

He lifted her foot and gently set it on the bed beside his leg. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m going to head back to my room to get ready.”

She turned to look back at him, and he slowly drew his leg up, knee bent, effectively shielding his crotch from her view. Not that she’d been looking. “Ready?” she repeated. She could see the color in his cheeks, and she felt decidedly warm, herself.

He smiled, though he seemed uncomfortable. “You promised me a steak, remember?”

“I did,” she agreed, glancing at the alarm clock beside the bed. “You’re not putting on a tux or anything, are you? I really don’t want to get dressed up.”

“We’ll save the black tie for next time,” he said, and her heart skipped a beat. “I just need a few minutes to, uh…freshen up a bit.” He hesitated, and she knew immediately why. He didn’t want to get to his feet while she was watching.

She turned her face toward the television with a pang of regret, and felt the bed shift as he swung himself off the mattress. “I’ll see you in a few,” she said.

“Mhmm,” he agreed, slipping into his room and pushing his door almost all the way closed.

 

*       *       *

 

He paced the floor, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, trying to concentrate on his breathing. The friction wasn’t helping, though, and he cursed softly, running his fingers through his hair. He glanced down at himself and groaned in frustration.

He walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water onto his face at the sink before glaring at himself in the mirror. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You’re a fucking adult, not some—” He stopped, closing his eyes as he pulled a breath through his nose. _Get it together_ , he thought.

He could feel the ghost of Benson’s foot against his inner thigh, and he pressed his lips together, giving his head a shake. His nostrils seemed to be filled with her scent, and her face kept swimming into his mind—brown eyes, looking at him—

His erection was throbbing painfully against the inside of his fly, and he gripped the edge of the counter, lowering his head. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so out of control of his body, and his sense of desperation was growing.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket and sent Benson a quick text: _Give me an extra 15 mins_. He turned and threw back the shower curtain, then hesitated. A cold shower might fix the problem temporarily—and God knew he deserved the pain it would bring—but he was going to be sitting across a restaurant table from her soon, and if this _problem_ reoccurred, he’d have to take a walk into traffic.

He pushed the bathroom door shut and heard the latch click softly. He grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the faucet, wringing out the excess water. He turned his back to the counter, leaning his hips against the edge, and yanked his zipper open, cursing himself the entire time. He pulled himself free of his pants, roughly and without ceremony, biting back a groan. It wouldn’t take long, but he didn’t want to enjoy himself—he was angry with himself for his lack of control, and embarrassed by it. If Benson had any idea—

He shoved the thought away; any thoughts of her were not allowed, not now.

He held the damp cloth in his left hand, and his erection in his right. He closed his eyes, drawing a breath as he started stroking himself. He shifted his feet further apart on the floor, pressing his lips together to keep back a moan as his back arched and the counter dug into his hip.

It had been a long time—longer than he cared to acknowledge—and he tightened his fist around the head of his cock, both needing release and wanting to punish himself for giving in. He gave himself several quick jerks. He was close, painfully close, and all he wanted was for it to be over. He flexed his hips, driving himself into the tight, dry sheath of his hand. His fist was a poor substitute—

He stopped, eyes still closed, shaking his head to dislodge the images of Benson that were swarming into his thoughts. _Don’t you fucking dare_ , he thought. He focused on the feeling of his fingers pressing against the crooked vein, focused on the pulsing heat and how close he was to coming, determined to rid his mind of everything else. If he could just finish a few more strokes without thinking of her—

He heard a gasp, and his eyes snapped open, his head turning toward the door. It was open—all the way open—and Benson was standing in the middle of his room, looking as though she’d been slapped.

“Fuck,” he said, throwing himself toward the door even as she started to turn away, stammering apologies. He slammed the door shut and banged his forehead against it, his heart stumbling in his chest. His stomach clenched, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick. “Jesus,” he said on an uneven breath.

_Oh, God, what did you do_? he thought, panic swelling up within him. His whole body was trembling. The agony in his groin was significant, but any desire he’d had to finish himself off was gone. He put his fist against the door beside his head, pressing his knuckles into the wood, cursing himself again and again.

After a moment, he shoved himself off the door and turned to the bathtub. He flipped the cold water on and pulled the knob for the shower. He stripped his clothes off, dropping them to the floor, and stepped into the frigid spray, making an involuntary sound at the pain of the cold water biting into his overheated skin.

 

*       *       *

 

_Oh my God,_ Benson was thinking as she paced her room. Her face was flaming with embarrassment, but her body was also flushed with arousal. She didn’t want to admit it to herself, not when she knew how mortified Barba must be feeling, but the sight of him standing there—back arched, eyes closed, erection in hand—was the most arousing thing she’d ever seen.

And she knew that it was because of her, at least partially. She’d felt his growing erection against her foot. She’d been intentionally touchy, enjoying the contact and flirty atmosphere, and she’d hoped to continue both through dinner. In fact, if she were being honest with herself, she’d been hoping for more.

She grabbed her phone from beside the television, meaning to send him a text to apologize. She saw that she’d missed a message from him— _give me an extra 15 mins_ —and she felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up within her. She choked it back. _Fifteen minutes_ , she thought. Instead, she’d gone to his room early to suggest they stay in and order room service. The adjoining door had been cracked, and he hadn’t responded to her light knock, so she’d stepped inside.

She hadn’t expected the bathroom door to be open, and certainly not with him in such a compromised position.

She didn’t want to keep imagining it, but she couldn’t get the image out of her head. She had to fix this before it was too late. Their friendship was too important to let one embarrassing incident ruin it, and she was terrified he would never want to look her in the face again.

She texted: _I’m sorry_. She waited, pacing anxiously, to see if he would respond.

Finally, after what felt like forever, her phone vibrated in her hand, and she looked at the screen. _Not your fault_.

She stopped walking, closing her eyes briefly. _Yes it is. I’m sorry._ She waited again, but there was no response. _Please talk to me_.

After a minute, there was a light knock on the adjoining door, and she hurried over to pull it open. He stood in the opening, not quite meeting her eyes, with his hands in fists by his sides. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on, but his hair was a little damp. He’d clearly taken a shower, though not to wash his hair.

“I didn’t mean to…just walk in,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” he answered. “Jesus, Liv, I…” He shook his head, drew a deep breath, and forced his eyes up to hers. He looked so miserable that she found herself attempting a joke just to lighten the mood.

“Did you at least finish?” she heard herself ask, and she saw the surprise widen his eyes.

He uttered a short laugh, and she was encouraged to see a trace of real humor in his expression as he regarded her. “No. Apparently humiliation is not a particular kink of mine,” he said.

She almost laughed, too, but she could see the self-loathing in his eyes. “Rafael,” she said. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yes. I do,” he said, looking away.

“That’s nothing but our Catholic upbringings,” she said. “It’s a perfectly natural—”

“No.” He shook his head. She didn’t understand, and there was no way he was going to explain it to her, no way he wanted her to know the full extent of his shame. She was staring at him, regarding him in silence, and he forced himself to meet her gaze. She started toward him, and the movement startled him even though she was walking slowly. He took half a step backward into his room, swallowing with effort, and then stopped, fighting his urge to flee.

As she drew nearer, he was finding it difficult to catch his breath. His heart was racing, and his stomach was churning, and he was helpless to look away.

“We’re adults, Raf,” she said quietly. “We don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s not like we don’t both know the other one’s done it.”

“Christ,” he breathed, closing his eyes as she stopped before him. “You don’t understand,” he said, barely audible.

“Yes, I do,” she answered, and his eyes opened. She leaned forward until her lips were near his ear. He watched her, unmoving, unbreathing.

“I’ve thought of you, too,” she murmured.

She heard his sharp intake of breath, felt his hand—feather-light—at her arm. He turned his face, just a little, until she could feel the tickle of his stubble against her jaw. She drew back an inch, brushing her cheek against his, and he shifted his chin. His breath was soft at the side of her mouth, his eyes half-closed. She could almost feel his heart pounding as erratically as her own.

“Liv,” he said, barely audible, his lips brushing the corner of hers.

“Yes,” she breathed, and he shifted his chin again, his lips skating briefly across hers. He tipped his head, his hooded gaze meeting hers, and kissed her, lightly. She leaned into him, wanting and needing more, but he turned his face and shifted his hips away from her with a small groan. “Raf,” she said, touching a hand to his chest.

“Liv, you have no idea how badly I want…this…with you…” He trailed off and let out a shaky breath, dragging his eyes back to hers. “But it’s been a long time,” he admitted. “And I can’t trust myself right now.”

She could see that he was embarrassed by his lack of control over his body’s reaction to her—a reaction that she’d felt before he’d shifted his hips away, a reaction that she’d be able to see if she glanced downward. But she kept her eyes on his, needing him to understand.

“I knew what I was doing to you, Raf,” she said, quietly. “I came over to suggest we stay here and order in instead of going out to eat.” She stepped closer and saw his throat work as he struggle to swallow. “You shouldn’t have felt like you had to be alone,” she murmured, once more putting her hand on his chest. “It should’ve been my hands on you,” she said, and he made an involuntary sound, his eyes closing for a few seconds.

When he felt her fingers at his waistband, his eyes opened and once more met hers. “The bathroom door doesn’t stay shut,” he muttered. “I wasn’t…I was just trying to…get rid of the problem so we could go out,” he said, and his cheeks were flushed dark.

She brushed her knuckles lightly across his erection, and he bit back a groan. “This problem?” she murmured. She was surprised by her own boldness, but she needed him to know that he wasn’t alone in his desire.

“Yes,” he hissed.

“May I?” she asked softly, her hands hovering near his fly.

“May you what?” he breathed. Then, before she could answer, “Yes. Whatever you want, always yes.”

Smiling, she unbuttoned his pants and lowered the zipper carefully, watching what she was doing so she didn’t accidentally hurt him. He was breathing unevenly, and she could feel his muscles trembling. “You took a cold shower,” she said, pressing her palm gently against the front of his underwear.

“Yes,” he repeated. She could feel his restraint as he tried desperately to keep from pushing himself against her hand.

“That must’ve been unpleasant.”

He laughed, a small sound, and said quietly, “And a waste of time, apparently…” He lifted a hand and touched his fingers to her chin, gently tipping her face up. He searched her eyes as he bent his head forward, and then his lips were on hers. She opened her mouth to him as she slid a hand into the waistband of his underwear, and he groaned, his hips rocking instinctively toward her touch.

“Is this alright?” she asked against his lips.

“Yes,” he said.

When she wrapped her fingers around his erection, he turned his mouth from hers and dropped his forehead against her shoulder, breathing raggedly. He held onto her waist to steady himself. She pulled him free, looking down as he breathed hotly into the crook of her neck. She ran a thumb over the bead of precum, and he made a sound close to a whimper.

“I want you,” she murmured into his ear, and he shivered. Then, because she knew he was feeling painfully vulnerable, she drew her hands back and quickly undid her own trousers. He lifted his head as she stripped off her pants and underwear. “You’re not alone,” she told him, and she saw the emotion softening his expression.

Holding her gaze, he lowered a hand, and she felt his fingers at her thigh. She shifted her feet apart on the floor, and when his light touch found her exactly as wet and ready as she’d claimed, she saw—and felt—most of the tension leaving his body. He let out a breath, and she pressed herself into the gentle pressure of his fingers, holding onto his shoulder as a shiver passed through her body.

Her knees already felt weak, and she wanted more than anything to give him relief. She turned him and steered him backward toward his bed. He didn’t resist when she pushed him down onto the edge of the bed, and he leaned back to help when she tugged his pants and shorts over his thighs and down his legs. She tossed them aside and wrapped her fingers around his erection.

He grunted, moving his knees further apart, his thighs tensing as he twitched upward into her hand. “Liv,” he said.

“I know,” she answered, because he was on the edge of his breaking point. She put a hand on his shoulder and one knee on the bed beside his hip. He grabbed her waist to support her, and she drew her other knee onto the bed, straddling his lap. She bent her head to kiss him and his tongue met hers eagerly—desperately—as she fumbled a hand between their bodies to guide him into place. She could feel him pulsing against her palm and knew he wouldn’t last very long, but that was alright. Neither would she. There would be time later to move slowly. To take off the rest of their clothes, for that matter. They could savor each other for hours. But now, they both needed release, and she kept her mouth on his as she sank onto his erection.

His arms went around her back, pulling her tight against his body, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on. When he started moving his hips beneath her, she had to break away from his mouth to draw a ragged breath.

“Raf,” she said, clinging to him. Even though she wanted to feel all of his skin against hers, she had to admit to herself that there was something exciting about the fact that they were still half-dressed—that they were so desperate to be joined together that nothing else mattered.

His arms were tight around her, and he pressed his lips against the side of her neck, breathing heavily against the sensitive skin of her throat. “Jesus, Liv,” he panted. “I can’t…”

“I’m here,” she murmured. She could already feel her body beginning to tighten around him, could feel herself teetering on the edge of climax. She ran her fingers into his damp hair, holding his head against her shoulder as he thrust frantically beneath her. “I’m with you,” she promised, because she knew he was trying to hold back.

He pressed his lips against her throat, saying her name again.

A moment later, he cried out, the sound muffled against her skin, and she felt him come inside her. His body shuddered beneath her, around her, inside her, and she pushed herself down, all the way down onto him, as her orgasm hit her. She rocked against him, saying his name, and he held her against himself.

As she felt their tremors subsiding, he leaned back onto the bed, pulling her with him, and she gasped at the sensation of him shifting inside of her. He turned his head and captured her mouth in a kiss that made their heads spin from lack of air.

She had to pull her lips from his to breathe, and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his body rising and falling beneath hers as he struggled to catch his breath. They stayed like that—her straddling him, held tightly against his chest, him still buried within her—until their heartrates had begun to slow and they could breathe, and then she lifted her head to look down at him.

“Better?” she asked, and he laughed, the vibration traveling through her.

“God, yes,” he said. “Thanks.”

Grinning, she said, “It’s the least I could do,” and he laughed again, lifting his head to kiss her. “I suppose you still want that steak, though.”

“Food has slipped down a notch or two on the list,” he said, and then they were both laughing as she dropped her forehead onto his shoulder.

“Good,” she murmured. “Because I want to stay like this.”

She felt his arms tighten around her and, a second later, his lips against her ear. “How about forever, Liv?” he whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

Barba knocked on the door and waited, glancing at his watch for the second time in thirty seconds. He couldn’t hear any sounds of movement in the apartment. He pulled out his phone and sent her a quick text: _Are you home? I left a file on your table._

He waited, his forehead creased, for a minute with no response. He shifted his weight, sighing as he debated.

He typed another text: _Just going in to grab, ok?_

He knew she wouldn’t mind him letting himself into her apartment; his key was for emergencies, but they were friends. She trusted him as much as he trusted her, and he would have no more of a problem with her walking into his apartment when he wasn’t home.

She wouldn’t mind, but he’d never been in her place when she wasn’t there, and he felt a little awkward about it. Still, he needed the file. He glanced at his watch for the third time. He had a meeting in an hour, and he had a car waiting for him. Finally steeling his resolve, he fished his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, stepping into the quiet apartment.

He knew it was her day off, but Noah was in school. She could be anywhere—grocery shopping, at the doctor, getting a haircut, having a lunch date…

He pushed that thought away, disliking the burning sensation in the pit of his stomach at the idea. He walked over to the table and grabbed his folder, then hesitated, frowning. There was a soft _thud_ from the direction of her bedroom. The door was almost closed, cracked open an inch or so, and he started walking in that direction without thinking about it. As he approached, he could hear other sounds—a quiet buzzing, a soft rustling—and he paused at the door.

“Liv?” he asked, but there was no response. He put his hand on the door and pushed it open, looking into the room. And he froze, all the air leaving his lungs in a rush.

She was on the bed, naked from the waist down—trousers and blankets kicked to the side—with both hands between her legs. Her left hand was holding the vibrator half-buried inside of her, while her right hand was moving quickly, fingers massaging—

Barba dropped the keys that he’d forgotten were in his hand, and the clatter against the wooden floor made him jump. All of the blood in his body seemed to have split, half rushing to his face and the rest to his groin, leaving none left for his brain. The keys hitting the floor was like a dash of cold water to his face, breaking him out of his paralysis.

She was wearing earbuds, but her eyes snapped open at the sound of the keys, and their gazes locked for only a moment before he bent and snatched the keyring from the floor.

“Fuck,” he said, hating himself for his body’s reaction to the sight of her hands, working—“Jesus, fuck, sorry,” he said, barely aware of the words leaving his mouth. He grabbed the keys, almost dropping his folder. As he straightened, he saw her yanking the blankets over her waist as she pulled the earbuds from her ears, and then he was turning away, bumping into the doorjamb with another curse.

“Barba,” she said, and he winced as though she’d shouted.

“Sorry, I—Sorry,” he said without looking back, hurrying from the room and making a beeline for the exit.

“Wait,” she called, and he heard her swearing. He wanted to flee, but he hesitated, standing near the apartment door with his back to her room, his face burning and his unwelcome erection throbbing. His heart was slamming inside his ribcage. “You’d better not leave,” she said.

He heard her coming out of the bedroom, and he fidgeted without looking back.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. There was a slight tremor in her voice, and he couldn’t tell if it was anger, embarrassment, or—more likely—a combination of the two. He wanted to see her face, to see how upset she was, but he was terrified to look at her.

“I forgot the file here,” he said. “I tried texting you…” He trailed off, because it suddenly occurred to him that he’d had no right to walk into her apartment just because he’d been in a hurry and she hadn’t responded to his messages or knock.

“Look at me,” she said, surprising him. He would’ve guessed she wouldn’t want to have his eyes on her, ever again. If their situations were reversed, he’d probably want nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die.

He turned slowly, holding the folder in front of his lap and hoping she wouldn’t notice. He found himself wishing he hadn’t left his suit jacket in his office. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. She was fully dressed, but the images were burned into his brain, and he swallowed, studiously keeping his eyes on her face. “I knocked,” he said, as though that mattered at all.

She frowned, waving a hand in annoyance. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, mimicking his thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I had no right to—”

“Stop it,” she cut in, surprising him again. She was scowling, now, and she started pacing in front of him. She was full of irritation and nervous energy, and no wonder.

_She didn’t get to finish_ , he thought, and a hysterical laugh threatened to bubble out of him. He clenched his jaw, cursing himself as he watched her pace.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, finally.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said, and he knew she was trying to convince herself as much as him. “We’re both adults, there’s no reason we can’t just—” She broke off, glancing at him with her brow furrowed. “When did you leave a file…” She stopped pacing and faced him. “Did you come to talk about a case this morning? I thought you were just bringing me coffee.”

He offered a small smile. “I was,” he said. “I was just using the case as an excuse,” he added, gesturing with the folder. Her gaze flicked toward it, briefly, and he cursed himself for drawing her attention to the region of his crotch. “Anyway, you were busy getting Noah ready and I forgot I took the damned thing out of my briefcase…” He trailed off as she met his eyes.

“You don’t need an excuse to stop by,” she said. She was still frowning, and she didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands.

_Her hands_ , he thought, images flashing through his mind, images he had no business remembering. He reminded himself to keep looking at her face and to keep breathing normally. And to keep the folder in front of himself.

“Is that still true?” he asked. He didn’t know he was going to ask until the words were out of his mouth. He was afraid of the answer but he also needed to know that she was going to be able to forgive him.

She seemed to read his expression. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she muttered. She started pacing again. “I’m…powering through this humiliation,” she said.

“You didn’t…do anything to be embarrassed about,” he said, his cheeks burning.

She laughed, glancing at him. “Oh, I know,” she answered. “But that doesn’t change the way it feels.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, fidgeting. He watched her pace in front of him for a few more moments. “Well…I’m sorry I interrupted,” he said.

To his relief, she laughed, tossing him another look. “You couldn’t have waited five more minutes,” she said.

He laughed, too—little more than an exhalation, but he was relieved that they could see some humor in the situation. “Five minutes?” he asked. “Must’ve been some good music you were listening to.”

She snorted. She was still pacing, but she seemed less agitated. “It’s just background noise, to drown out the, you know.” She gestured toward the window and the sounds of the city beyond. “Classical—Bach, Beethoven, Pachelbel…” She trailed off.

“I thought you didn’t care for classical music,” he said.

“Yeah, well.” She glanced at him. “It’s grown on me, since I met you.”

He felt an unexpected rush of pleasure and tried to keep himself from grinning like an idiot. “Glad I could help,” he heard himself say, hoping he wasn’t crossing a line.

She shot him a look that was equal parts annoyance and amusement.

He opened his mouth to attempt another joke—eager to keep her heading down the path toward amusement—but hesitated. “Are you wearing cologne?” he asked, as realization dawned that it wasn’t just his own he was smelling. Every time she passed by, a cloud of scent swirled in her wake. It had taken him a while to notice because he was so accustomed to the smell.

She stopped and looked at him, and he could see her struggling to think of a way to answer. He thought he could see her cheeks growing darker. And suddenly he understood, and the heat in his lower belly—which he’d managed to subdue into a dull burn—blossomed into flames.

“You’re wearing my cologne,” he said.

“A lot of people wear it,” she answered, but there was no conviction in her voice. She dropped her gaze, then almost immediately tipped her chin up and forced herself to meet his eyes again. She was fighting against her sense of embarrassment, and he knew she hated the defensiveness in her own voice when she said: “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Of course not,” he said, quietly, but he couldn’t keep his lips from curving.

“Stop smirking,” she said, scowling at him.

“Sorry,” he answered. He tipped his head, still unable to keep his smile in check. “Were you thinking of _me_?” he asked softly. He knew he had no right to ask, but he also knew the answer already; he could see it written on her face, and it made him far happier than it should.

She crossed her arms over her chest, still scowling. “Are you enjoying this?” she asked.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Liv,” he answered softly. He moved toward her slowly, holding his hand up when she tensed. He was still holding the file in front of himself; no reason to make her even _more_ uncomfortable. “Like you said, we’re both adults,” he said. “And you had no reason to expect someone to walk into your apartment, into your _bedroom_ …”

“Stop,” she breathed, and he did. They were close, now. She could touch him if she reached out a hand. He searched her face, and she fought the urge to fidget. She could run from this moment—a moment that they’d both craved for years—or she could push her embarrassment aside and be bold. “I thought…for a second that I’d…conjured you,” she admitted softly. She looked at him, gathering her courage. She knew he wouldn’t mock her, and so she found herself confessing: “Of _course_ I was thinking about you.” She licked her lips, and his eyes darted toward the movement. “Have you ever…thought of me?” she asked, and his gaze slid back up to hers.

“I’m almost always thinking of you, Liv,” he answered. “All day, every day. Every night when I try to sleep, wishing you were there.”

Her breath caught and she swallowed. She glanced down at the folder between them. “Have you ever…” She trailed off, not quite bold enough to ask right out.

It was his turn to confess. “I haven’t been able to touch myself for years without thinking of you,” he murmured, holding her eyes. “So I don’t. I haven’t. I was afraid you’d somehow look at me and know.”

“Maybe I’d walk in on you?” she asked, and he chuckled. She reached out a tentative hand and touched the front of his shirt. “You had more restraint than I did,” she said. “Do you…feel disrespected?”

“Nothing’s ever made me happier,” he breathed.

She raised her eyebrows. “Nothing?” she asked, with a small smile. “A bit hyperbolic—”

“ _Nothing_ ,” he repeated. He reached toward her and hesitated. She didn’t pull away, so he carefully tucked her hair behind her ear. He wanted desperately to touch her, but he held back, afraid she wasn’t ready to leap with him. After a moment, she stepped a little closer, and his stomach fluttered nervously.

She touched her fingers to his chest, again. “You looked pretty good this morning, Barba,” she murmured, and he felt himself flush. “Made me think all sorts of inappropriate things…”

“I wish I’d known,” he answered softly. “I could’ve helped.”

Her breath hitched, and she stared at him with her lips parted.

He decided to take a leap anyway and hope she was willing to join him. “Can I help you, Liv?” he asked, shifting closer, watching her pupils dilate.

He took hold of her wrist, lifting her hand from his chest. His fingers were warm, his touch gentle. He slowly drew her arm up, curving it over his shoulder, and she stared at him, unable to breathe. With a small smile on his lips, he picked up her other arm, placing it on his other shoulder. She shifted closer, automatically, her breasts pressing against his chest.

He tipped his head, his breath fanning her lips as he searched her face. Her fingers tickled the nape of his neck as they stroked lightly at his hair.

He brushed his lips against hers, and she felt his hand at her waist. He reached his other hand past her, sliding his folder onto the table, and she briefly felt his arousal before he subtly shifted his hips away. Then both of his hands were on her hips, and he kissed her again, the gentle pressure of his lips sending a fresh shiver of desire through her.

His fingers were at the button of her trousers. Her stomach squirmed pleasantly as she felt his knuckles below her navel, hot through the fabric of her blouse. His eyes were on hers, and she was helpless to look away.

“May I?” he asked softly, his lips hovering a breath from hers. She offered a small nod, unable to speak, and a moment later he’d lowered her zipper.

She wasn’t wearing underwear; she’d yanked her trousers on in a hurry to chase him down before he could flee the apartment, knowing that they needed to face their discomfort before it could fester and grow.

She hadn’t used lubrication—mostly because she hadn’t wanted to deal with the mess, but also because it hadn’t been necessary. She’d been more than ready for a little relief. In fact, she’d been putting it off for a long time, hoping…well, hoping that something would change between her and Barba, if she were being honest with herself. Hoping that one of them would finally find the courage to make a move.

Hoping that _he_ would make a move so she wouldn’t have to.

He was making a move, _now_ —he’d been the one to step out on the limb, after all, and she wasn’t going to leave him there alone. She kissed him as he slipped his hand into her pants, kissed him the way she’d wanted to do for so long that she could barely remember a time she _hadn’t_ wanted him.

His fingers slid between her legs, and she gasped against his mouth as she pressed herself against his hand.

Her arms tightened around his neck as she felt her legs weaken beneath her. He put an arm behind her back, supporting her as his fingers rubbed—lightly, experimentally—over her slick center.

Her soft moan went straight to his erection, and he had to bite back his answering groan. He relished the weight of her arms on his shoulders as she clung to him, he delighted in the unevenness of her breaths, he loved the way her dark gaze was locked onto his face as she shifted her feet, leaning instinctively into him.

He moved his fingers, massaging gently, and he could feel her muscles trembling. Her hands were fisted into his shirt between his shoulder blades. He bent his head, putting his lips at her ear, and murmured, “I’ve got you, Liv.”

She pressed her face into the crook of his shoulder, and he could feel the heat of her breath through his shirt. “Rafa,” she said, and he felt a frisson of pleasure at the sound of his name sighed softly against his shirt. He held her with his arm around her back as he felt her legs quivering, and she held his neck, saying his name again as the first tremors went through her body.

Her thighs tightened around his hand as she tried to draw his fingers closer, and he increased his pressure and tempo, supporting her completely as her muscles seemed to give out and her palms flattened against his shoulders. He kept his feet planted, bracing her while her orgasm rocked through her, his own breathing ragged near her ear. Finally, he felt her shudders subsiding, and he slowly and carefully withdrew his hand.

She straightened her knees with effort, but he didn’t loosen his grip, waiting to make sure she could support herself. “Liv,” he murmured into her hair, and she pulled her face back to look at him. He slanted his mouth over hers, and her fingers slid into his hair, holding his head in place until he was dizzy. Finally, she turned her mouth away, drawing a deep, shaky breath.

“It smells better on you,” she muttered after a few seconds, casting him a sidelong look.

He chuckled breathlessly. “I beg to differ.”

“Raf,” she said, drawing back a bit. He relaxed his arm, even though he didn’t like the sudden space between their bodies. She looked down, and his heart stuttered. He wanted her so badly it hurt, but when she reached a hand toward his belt, he shifted.

“Wait, Liv,” he said, and she looked up at his face. He hated the uncertainty in her expression, and he cupped his left hand to her face, pressing his lips against hers. When he pulled back to meet her dark gaze, he said, “I have a meeting.” He was afraid she would be upset. If he saw any hint that she was feeling rejected, or abandoned, or insecure, he would stay no matter how important the meeting was. Nothing was more important than her.

To his surprise, and relief, she laughed. “You’re leaving?” she asked, sounding incredulous but amused. “Like _this_?”

He glanced down and grimaced.

“Untuck your shirt, at least,” she said, straightening his tie. “And wash your hands,” she added, laughing again.

He smiled, but he searched her face, still worried.

She glanced at the clock. “Will you be back before one?” she asked.

His smile widened. “I’ll be back before eleven,” he said.

She patted his chest. “Just let yourself in, then,” she said. “You know where I’ll be.”

He laughed. “Taking a nap?” he suggested, smirking when she narrowed her eyes.

“You’re awfully smug,” she said. “You’re lucky I don’t want you to get fired, or I’d wipe that smirk off your face right now.”

He tugged his shirt out of his trousers, wincing as he inadvertently brushed his crotch. It was going to be an unpleasant walk to the car, and an awkward meeting if he didn’t get himself under control. “Can I tell you a secret, Liv?” he asked, reaching past her to grab his file from the table.

“We have secrets?” she returned, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t think it’s much of one, actually,” he said. He tipped his head, offering a smile. “I’m very much in love with you, you know?” He saw her eyes widen, saw her lips first part in surprise and then curve as she let the words settle over her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.” He placed a quick kiss on her mouth and turned to leave before he could give in to his body’s demand that he stay.

“Aren’t you going to wash?” she asked.

“At the office,” he said, glancing at his watch.

“Rafael.”

He stopped and looked back.

“You’ve got lipstick on your shirt.”

“I don’t care,” he said, without looking down. Maybe his jacket would cover it, and hide the wrinkles caused by her fists, and maybe not.

She smiled. “You care a little bit,” she retorted. “I know you. Also—I love you, too.”

He let out a breath, tipping his lips in a crooked smile. “Now, _that_ I care about,” he said quietly.

“Go to your meeting and hurry back,” she told him. “Be prepared for payback, too,” she warned, laughing when he groaned.

 

*       *       *

 

“Do you have court later?” They were standing in her bedroom.

“In a couple of hours.”

“Hmm. You probably don’t want to make a mess in these pants, then.”

“You do know I have a spare suit in my office…”

She ran her fingers up his thigh, grinning when he shivered. “Your office is a long way away. I think it’s best we open this,” she said, lightly running a finger along the curved line of his zipper. “It must be pretty tight right now, anyway.” She held his green gaze and, throwing his words back at him, said, “Can I help you, Raf?”

He nodded, once, watching her face as she unfastened his trousers.

She took hold of his wrist and lifted his arm, placing it on her shoulder. He grinned at her, letting her do the same with his other arm. He toyed with her hair, resting his wrists lightly on her shoulders. When she reached a hand into his shorts, he closed his eyes, drawing a breath through his nose.

She pushed his pants and underwear down his thighs and felt his arms grow heavier on her shoulders when she took hold of his erection in a light grasp. He tilted his head to kiss her, his hips shifting forward of their own volition. She ran her thumb up his length and over the head of his arousal, feeling him twitch as he pushed himself into her hand.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” she murmured, and he laughed. His laugh quickly turned into a groan, however, as she began slowly stroking him. “How was your meeting?” she asked quietly.

“Frustrating,” he said, and it was her turn to laugh. She tightened her hand around him, and he held onto her shoulders, his eyes closing. “God—Liv,” he said, and she heard the strain, and the warning, in his voice.

She released him and took a small step back, quickly shoving her trousers down and kicking them off. He watched from beneath heavy lids, his hands still on her shoulders. She took hold of his tie and backed toward the bed, pulling him with her. She sank down onto the edge of her mattress and he followed her, bracing himself on his elbows as he claimed her mouth. With her hand between their bodies, she guided him into place. He was still almost fully clothed, and she didn’t care. There would be time for exploration later. Now, all she wanted—all she _cared about_ —was feeling him inside of her.

He lifted his head to meet her eyes as he slowly entered her. “Who has who, now?” he murmured, his soft breath fanning her face.

“I guess we have each other,” she said, watching his lips curve into a smile.


End file.
